


The curious incident of Erik Lehnsherr involving cats

by ang3lsh1



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cats, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Slut, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lsh1/pseuds/ang3lsh1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new neighbour moves into the apartment adjacent to Erik and he can't help but be curious about him. Also he comes with a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The curious incident of Erik Lehnsherr involving cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/gifts).



The chime of the elevator door followed by the whoosh of air as it opens is a welcome relief to Erik. Exhausted from the erratic hours the current project has brought in and all he wants to do is sleep forever. Times like these he’s thankful that there’s no one currently staying in the adjacent apartment, no raucous neighbours to deal with. His thought derails when quiet giggles alerts him to the presence of other people, at this hour. Irritation from work bleeds through and he turns in the direction of the noise, ready to tell them off if they get any louder. That irritated feeling only grows when he sees a brunette couple at the door of 403. 403 which had been the previously, precious vacant apartment now came furnished with a woman clutching at a man’s lapels, her caustic laugh grating on Erik’s nerves as the man fumbles to find his keys. 

Erik narrows his gaze at them when the man suddenly looks up and fucking grins at him. Stupidly, all Erik can think of is ‘Wow, he has really pretty blue eyes…’ Suddenly embarrassed at being caught out, he ducks his head and busies himself with opening his own door, ignoring the rising flush at the back of his neck. Even so, he’s still curious enough to turn back to look at the couple again, at though expecting it, the other man raises his hand in a wave mixed with an ambiguous smile directed at Erik before sliding down to the middle of the woman’s back as he ushers her in.

Well, despite how attractive the new neighbour is, Erik is going to put this out of his mind and get some sleep—there’s an early meeting tomorrow, the wonderful perks of liaising with different time zones. He stumbles through his nightly ablutions and the last thought in his mind as his head hits his pillow is ‘Huh, thank god they’re quiet,’ before drifting off.

The next morning is early and quiet enough, that time when dusk gives over to dawn yet there are no windows in the hallway to tell him this. Most people would still be asleep. The quiet ding of the elevator is the only sound until he hears the quiet goodbyes from someone else. 

He’s a little too late to close the elevator doors and the woman from last night manages to slip in before the door closes. 

Erik doesn’t make it a habit of conversing with strangers, but to be honest he’s a little curious about his new neighbours, well more like one in particular but he’s not one to split hairs.There’s only way he’s going to be able to satisfy this curiosity so he reaches out by breaking the silence, “I’m Erik from 404.”

The woman startles, before casting a glance over to Erik and answers a little stiffly “Oh, um I’m Raine.”

They both spend the rest of the rest of the ride down in mild discomfort and when the ride ends they each give an awkward wave before moving on their separate ways.

He doesn't spend it much thought on the way to work and through the meeting until midday, now that the finer details are done, they’re not required to stay in the office. Erik’s planning on making his way back to have lunch and a cat nap before working from home for the rest of the day.

As he unlocks his door and opens up the fridge pulling out leftovers from the day before to warm up in the microwave and crosses over to the balcony doors, stepping out for some fresh air only to find out his new neighbour slumped over the balcony rail, hair in disarray, mid-yawn, cigarette halfway down to the filter balanced between his index and middle finger, while clearly still dressed in sleep pants. When he catches sight of Erik, the same hand gives him a cocky salute that slides into a bright smile crinkling his eyes, “Hello stranger.”

“Hello yourself,” Erik replies, running on adrenaline and the last dregs of coffee from the office, is it any wonder that he feels mildly charmed by the other man?

The other uncurls himself from the position and extends his right hand as he leans forward on the handrails, “I’m Charles, clearly from 403.”

Erik reaches forward to meet Charles’ outstretched hand, “Erik, likewise from 404.” His hand is warm, he can’t help but notice the breath of Charles’ fingers and how it feels clasped around his own, he fumbles around for something to distract himself. “I met Raine this morning.”

Charles looks poleaxed for a moment before recognition dawns, “Oh Raine!” he pulls his hand back to ruffle the back of his head, “I met her at a bar last night, I don’t think she’ll be coming back any time soon.”

Well. That explains this morning’s awkward silence in the elevator, not that it’s really any of his business. The ding of the microwave signals that his lunch is ready and he makes a move back inside, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be better to know you,” Charles chirps with another wave.

***

Erik spends the next few weeks in an almost endless loop of work - home, interspersed with food at very infrequent intervals. His mother would be appalled, but at least she isn’t here to listen to Emma threaten them with an IV drip of fluids if she thought it would make a difference in the pace that they were going. 

Still by, Erik’s estimates, they’d probably make the deadline for the project. Just. 

He shouldn’t be put out by this; he does enjoy his work after all, it’s just that he’s actually faced with something that’s much more interesting than just work. 

Namely Charles from 403, with his rumpled brown hair and blue eyes. Come to think about it he’s never really seen Charles in any other state other than rumpled. It would be driving Erik wild if he wasn’t quite focused on the project at hand, to exhausted to do anything else other than inhale nutrients and sleep everytime he comes home, but his libido is acutely aware of Charles red lips and soft hair, he wonders how Charles’ lips feel wrapped around his cock, just how soft Charles’ hair would be wrapped round his fist as he fucks up into that red, red mouth

Trying not to appear like a horrible pervert, seeing that every thought he has about Charles seems to come back to sex, but considering the amount of people he has seen coming and going from 403, he can’t help but wonder if his new neighbour is running some sort of high end business from his place. 

None of Charles’ visitors ever seems to come back with an exception of young Asian girl in a bright yellow raincoat, chewing on gum as she greets Charles with a “Hey, Prof!” before exchanging dubious large brown parcels for money.

Left alone and high on caffeine Erik’s idle theories has run from drug ring, to perhaps high-end escorts running from home. But really, wouldn’t it be higher risk for people to actually come to you for the goods? Also they tend to leave empty-handed. 

Then there was that incident where that really hot blond left Charles apartment and Charles had seen him off in nothing but black boxer briefs and an unbuttoned shirt, Erik’s libido had a field day with that image. 

A field day. 

Charles saw the man off with a smile before going “Oh, wait,” stumbling back into his apartment, before coming back out with a wad of cash. 

The other man had leant in, bussing Charles on his cheek, close but a not quite kiss on the lips, “It was my pleasure, you don’t need to pay,” he said in a low voice, as his counts out the money on hand. 

Charles answered with a low chuckle, “Can’t have me just paying you with my body, can I. What would the neighbours think?” Charles replied glibly, eyes catching sight of Erik in his doorway and he winked at Erik before waving the man off and slinking back into his room. 

Erik’s brain went into overdrive that night devising up absolutely filthy theories to much more mundane, but still out there theories, in some vague attempt to protect Charles’ modesty. 

Like maybe he’s professional cuddler. 

Yeah, right. 

***

Erik comes home after a long day at work - sudden problems when it comes to sourcing parts is the worst. All he wants to do is to sleep forever but a sudden movement out on his balcony catches his eye.

He slides the balcony door open to have a closer look, just as the small lump jumps up and over the ledge onto Charles’ balcony.

“Oh hello, Whiskey,” Charles croons as he leans over to scratch the cat under it’s chin, voice a little rough from the cigarette in his other hand. 

“Whiskey?” Erik asks, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Charles turns, placing the cigarette on the ashtray on the balcony table. He picks up the cat under it’s arms and spins around, putting the poor thing on display. 

Clearly Whiskey is a she. 

“Yes, Whiskey,” Charles proclaims proudly, “She’s the exact colour of Macallan double malt aged 12 years.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Erik replies, eyebrow raised, he admits that she is a lovely shade of amber with dainty white paws and a little white bib.

Whiskey decides she has enough and wriggles out of Charles grasp before jumping off the ledge onto the balcony and past the cat flap, back into Charles’ apartment.

Charles turns back watch her go before picking the cigarette back up. “I have an eye for colours,” he says with a wink, placing the cigarette between slightly chapped lips as he takes a drag from it. 

The day at work has been long and his nerves are a little frayed, before he knows it, his own hand darts out to steal Charles’ cigarette. Erik stops thinking and closes his eyes as his lips enclose around the filter, just where Charles' own lips had been and breathes in deeply, enjoying the drag of nicotine into his lungs, it's a bad habit but g-d does it hit the spot. When he opens his eyes and his fingers pause in the act of returning the cigarette to Charles because Charles is looking at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, pushing the cigarette back at Charles, “It’s been a long day at work.” 

Charles takes another drag from the cigarette, before placing the filter back in Erik’s mouth, “That’s alright, you look like you need it more than me. Besides looks like it’s done its work,” he says as he pats Erik’s cheek, before turning to move back into his apartment with a little wave.

“Have a good night, Erik.”

***

On one of those rare slow days when everything goes right, Erik takes the opportunity to duck out of work and finally have something different for lunch. Delicious as the Reubens from the deli may be, he’s had enough of having it every single day for the last month. Also, he may end up punching someone if he has to deal with the next minute problem which common sense can solve. 

It’s early enough that the cafe is clear of the lunch hour crowd, just as he’s about to slide into an empty booth, a familiar voice calls out his name. 

He turns in the direction only to find Charles waving him over. Seeing no reason to decline the invitation Erik wanders over, taking note of the collection of pencils and large moleskine notebook placed before Charles, as well as a mug of coffee beside him. 

“Hey stranger, never would have thought nocturnal creatures would be showing themselves in the light of day,” Erik teases. 

Charles makes a big show, pulling off his glasses only to gaze out of the window, “I don’t know, the skies are overcast enough to let things like me roam about freely.” He tucks the pencil in his hand behind his ear, pushing up his shirt sleeves. 

“Believe it or not,” he says, pursing his lips, “Actual work.”

Erik peers curiously at the drawings sketched out on pristine beige paper, taking in the light pencil lines, sprawling across the page, rough but even then Erik can make out the late 1930 arches of the diner. "Actual work? You're an artist then?"

Charles rewards him with a sly smile, as one would expect from a master when his pet does something clever. "Illustrator actually."

"I... don't know the difference," Erik confesses. "How long have you been an illustrator?"

Charles shrugs, “Long enough to be able to makes ends meet with a regular clientele.” 

Erik notes the details of various fixtures around the diner. "Interiors?"

"Just practise."

"Oh. I thought you were—It's silly in hindsight, nevermind."

"Tell me, Erik. Nothing you say can be silly."

"It's just... I thought you were trying to figure out your next mark."

"My next mark?"

"Yeah. Like you're waiting for your target to walk in so, I don't know, you can honeypot them to do your bidding."

At that, Charles laughs delightedly, a clear sound that is pleasant to the ears. Erik blushes. "If I am going to honeypot anyone, you'd be the first in line," Charles says after he calms down with an obscene wink.

Erik blushes harder.

A loud pop from his right catches his attention as a bright yellow arm lays the diner menu between him and Charles, he looks to his right only to find the Asian girl who normally visits Charles, filling up the empty mug with coffee. “Anything else, Prof?”

“Not for now, Jubilee, but perhaps you could come back in a few minutes once Erik is ready to order?” Charles replies with a smile.

“Sure thing, Prof,” Jubilee says, nodding as she moves over to the next table waving for her attention.

“Prof?” Erik asks with an arched eyebrow.

Charles ducks his head, hair falling over his neck and Erik can see the nape of his neck blushing, darkening over his freckles, “It used to be a childhood nickname and I couldn’t think of anything so it ended up being my online alias for most things.” 

“Does anyone call you that in bed?” Erik laughs, tiny part of him is horrified at how forward he’s being.

“Only the ones I really like,” Charles winks, gaze going quiet for a fleet second, before he reaches his hand out to cover Erik’s, a sly grin blooming in his face. “Would you like to…”

His phone explodes to the beat of Maneater, skittering across the table, Emma’s face, complete with photoshopped crown on top of her head, lights up the screen. Erik scrambles to answer it, if only to stop the noise; he ends up hitting speaker phone by mistake much to Charles amusement.

“Erik! Where the fuck are you?! Scott is sulking about Namor again who’s decided to remain an idiot by insisting on going with the fuschia fixtures in the reception room even after we all decided that we were going ahead with the minimalist designs from Salvadore.” Emma pauses to take breath, sounding less frazzled, giving Erik time to pick up his phone and turn speaker off, “I know you wanted lunch outside but I need you to come back and try to talk sense into Namor before he gets ahead of himself.”

Across the table, Charles has dissolved into paroxysms, clearly trying to be polite by muffling his laughter behind his hand. As much as Erik would like to stay and continue Charles line of query, he knows Namor’s antics could set the project budget back and they’d end up with fixtures they were never going to use because Emma’s aesthetic sense would never allow them to sully the company’s face.

“I’m not too far off, Emma. I’ll be right back, save one of the Reubens for me,” Erik sighs, hanging up once he hears Emma’s note of accord. 

He starts to make his apologies to Charles, but Charles waves him off, the other arm clutching his belly from laughing so hard. “You better head back and save Emma from the sounds of it,” Charles chortles, wiping tears from his eyes. “Save her from the impending fashion disaster.”

Erik smiles ruefully at that. “I’ll take that rain check then. See you later, Charles,” Erik slides out from the booth, palming his phone and wallet, turning to wave goodbye to Charles who offers a small wave back.

***

In the end, Erik had to herd Namor away from the site, giving Emma time to swoop in to complete the construction of the reception area. The only reason Erik succeeds in keeping Namor out of the country, let alone the building are the two words, ‘Fashion week.’

The simple knowledge that it’s bound to be fashion week somewhere in the world and there’s nothing else Namor likes ‘discovering’ the next big icon, enough to pay for both their flights and tickets over to Tokyo for the week.

When they get back, Namor grudgingly admits that Emma’s vision did pan out better than Namor’s, though to be honest the massive fuchsia mural on the wall probably had a hand in it, in Erik’s honest opinion, it went very well with the black and white furniture. It pleases Emma so much that Erik finally gets a welcome day off, with promises from Emma that he’ll actually have the whole day and any imminent disaster will be handled by herself. 

He hightails out of the building before the other Summers gives her cause to change her mind and haul him back in.

There’s only so much takeaway Erik can suffer and he misses his Mama’s home cooking terribly, but she’s not here and he makes do with his own these days. On the way home goes out of his way to stop by at the butcher pick up some lean cuts of beef along with some kiske, the least he can do is to make sure he keeps kosher when making his Mama’s recipes. The other ingredients he still has at home, last he checked, his dried sundries were still dried and hadn’t taken root or sprouted. 

Once home he puts the beef in the fridge while he rummages about his kitchenette, digging for the large crockpot he has kept in the depths of the cupboards, giving it a cursory rinse before placing it on the stove. Erik moves on to digging out the dried sundries, mildly annoyed that he’s run out of pinto beans but lentils shall suffice. Once he has his things sorted, he goes about peeling potatoes and coarsely chopping up and onion before moving on to cube the beef. He throws everything into the crock pot along with spices, gently placing the kiske on top with the eggs before adding water and leaving it to cook on high heat. He may as well do his laundry as well while waiting for it to cook. 

At some point after a shower, Erik moves on to check on the cholent cooking on his stove. He lifts the lid, pleased to see the stew bubbling away merrily, the scent of ginger and allspice mixed in with garlic makes his belly rumble. While he’s tempted to dig in now, past experience and memories of having his smaller hands whacked with the wooden spatula taught him otherwise. Instead he turns the heat down to low and opens up a window on his balcony, the cholent’s going to cook away all night and he never likes it when the apartment overheats. 

Satisfied with that he heads towards his bedroom only to wake up the next morning with a pair of wide green eyes staring straight at him. Now that Erik’s awake, Whiskey proceeds to raise herself on all four legs before stretching and jumping off him.

For a few moments, Erik remains in his bed, blinking awake, processing how Whiskey managed to get into his apartment, for a brief moment he wonders if Charles broke into his apartment simply just to let the cat in, before the smell of cooking beef reminds him that he left his windows open last night.

He throws the bed covers off and shuffles into the kitchen to check on the stew, only to find Whiskey, propped up on the kitchen table gazing at him expectantly. 

He skritches her behind her ears, “Does your owner even realise you’ve been sneaking off to have a rendevouz with other men?” he asks before moving towards the stove and lifting the lid, exposing the deliciousness within, as he reaches out for a spatula to taste, Whiskey jumps off the table to twine between Erik’s calves deciding that she must have some too.

Erik turns off the stove as he bends down to pick Whiskey up, cradling her in his arms, he turns towards the balcony, on the off chance that Charles might be awake to accept Whiskey back. 

Sure enough, once he fiddles the balcony door open, he hears Charles cajoling for Whiskey, along with something rattling about, no doubt some form of kitty treats in hopes of enticing her back from wherever she is.

At the sound of the door sliding open, Charles pops his head and breaks into a smile when he sees Erik, or the smile could be aimed at Whiskey alone. He walks towards Erik, placing the box of kitty treats on the table, arms open wide to accept Whiskey, whom Erik obligingly returns to Charles.

Except. Whiskey squirms about in their arms, unwilling to climb back into Charles’ arms.

“It appears that both Whiskey and I may share the same taste in men,” Charles comments wryly.

“I think she’s more impressed by cholent than kitty treats this morning,” Erik remarks, gazing at the cat who’s determined to stay on Erik’s side of the balcony, before his brain catches up to Charles’ previous words.

His eyes flicks up to meet Charles gaze, only to find Charles’ eyes glazed over, “Do you mean to tell me the amazing smell of cooking has been coming from you all morning?” 

Well, let it be known that the best way to a man’s heart is certainly through his stomach, though Emma may disagree. According to her a well-placed heel on a certain ridge on the spine works even better.

“If you manage to take Whiskey away I promise to give you some right now,” Erik says.

“Did you hear that, Whiskey?” Charles asks Whiskey, hitching her under her arms and bending his knees to gaze into her eyes. “Did you hear what the nice man said Whiskey? If you come back into my arms he promises to give us some of the delicious smelling food,” Charles cajoles, wriggling her arms about in Erik’s arms, this should not be as cute as it looks, Erik thinks.

Whiskey flattens her ears before blinking twice and obliges Charles, allowing herself to be cradled in Charles arms, who in turn offers up a beatific smile at Erik, who’s lips quirk up in return with a fond smile before he heads back into his own apartment to hunt for containers to box the stew up in.

Originally he was going to freeze a few servings to keep as emergency comfort food so it really is not much of a difference to give Charles a portion, be it a large or small one. Still it’s important that Erik’s cooking leaves a lasting impression so he’s relieved when the taste test proves his cholant as delicious as his Mama’s.

He returns back to the balcony to find Charles feeding Whiskey with kitty treats, “Here’s your share,” Erik says, handing over the tupperware, its lid slightly ajar. “It’ll be best to let it cool completely before refrigerating or freezing it.”

As expected, Charles’ eyes lights up at the size of the container, as he leans forward to accept the tupperware from Erik’s hands, but he doesn’t stop there, darting in further into Erik’s space to place a kiss on his cheek. Had Erik just turned his face a little left, he’d have a kiss from Charles. 

“As thanks for this meal,” Charles says slyly, bending down to scoop Whiskey back into his arms as he sashays back into his apartment, Erik’s tupperware in his other hand. 

***

Despite all that, Erik doesn’t hear from Charles again until roughly a week later, when he opens his mailbox. He sorts through his mail: bills, bills, more bills, before alighting on a simple, weighted envelope with an unfamiliar pen scrawling out his name.

He slits it open with his keys, enclosed within is simple note written in a looping scrawl with another set of keys, ‘I’m so sorry to do this to you, Erik, but I’ve been called away for a few weeks and I hope you can find it within you to catsit Whiskey for me while I’m gone? Enclosed are a set of my apartment keys and I promise to thank you properly when I get back. Charles’

Left with not much of a choice and honestly, Erik is quite curious enough to peek into his neighbour’s everyday life. He goes back to his apartment to put his things away before gathering up the courage to venture into Charles apartment despite given explicit permission to enter.

Erik takes a deep breath, while a small part of himself ridicules himself over being nervous, after all it’s just another apartment in the same building, how much different could it possibly be? 

He lets himself in and stands in the doorway as the door swings shut behind him, feeling a bit like a stalker, until he hears the pads of little feet coming towards him, dimly he notes that Charles’ flooring is wooden slats unlike his marble tiles. Upon seeing Erik and not Charles, Whiskey stops and meows petulantly at Erik, as though asking where Charles is.

Erik bends down to scoop up Whiskey, nuzzling her fur. “No idea where Charles is either. Looks like it’s just going to be you and me for awhile, eh Whiskey?” he asks before setting her back down on the floor, assuming that she’s probably hungry.

She turns tail and glides down the corridor toward where the kitchen should be Erik presumes. Passing familiar and yet unfamiliar rooms he follows her, itching to nose about the rooms, to see if the Charles in his head matches up with the person who’s been living next door to him for the last six months, yet he’s wary of violating Charles’ privacy in spite of given keys. Whiskey gazes at him expectantly, tail thumping gently against the wooden flats, seated next to her very empty bowl.

“Right, let’s see what Charles has left for you,” Erik says, hands on his hips, loathe as he like to immediately start rummaging about Charles’ kitchen. “Let’s start with the fridge, see if there’s any leftovers for you,” he says, bending give her another scratch behind her ears before opening the fridge door. 

Mama would despair at the state of Charles’ fridge, Erik decides. At least the basics are in here: a slab of butter, milk, eggs, some sad wilting lettuce in the vegetable drawer. Small victory to be had, when he sees half a can of tuna surprise, covered with cling wrap sitting on the bottom shelf. He rummages through the kitchen drawers for a fork to empty out the contents of the can into Whiskey’s bowl, who immediately starts nosing at her food, he feels a small pang of commiseration, surely she must have felt lonely without Charles here. 

While Whiskey fills her belly, Erik takes the time to look around Charles’ kitchen, spies the cork board hanging on the fridge. He takes a closer look at it, curious for any important information Charles might have left behind: list of important numbers, Whiskey’s vet, various random numbers Erik assumes Charles associates with work, more importantly, Charles number. He flips his phone out to snap a quick photo of Whiskey eating to send it to Charles ‘Whiskey has been fed as per your bidding, sire’.

Where Erik’s apartment is a vision of minimalism and chrome, Charles is old world comfort, from the wooden floors, lined with floor to ceiling shelves that are littered with books, from various art texts to fiction novels to the massive Victorian stand alone bathtub in the bathroom. The room that faces north has been converted into an atelier, filled with various knick knacks, one wall littered with photographs for references, there’s an iMac in the corner for digital art, Erik assumes. In the corner that gets the most sunlight is a drafting board with various pencil sketches strewn about. Curious, Erik steps closer to have a look only to be taken aback by the amount of sketches of himself doing mundane things: coming back from a jog, drinking coffee, playing with Whiskey.

When the buzzing of his phone startles him, bringing him back to reality. A quick glance tells him Charles is calling, swiping right to answer.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Charles blurts out. “I couldn’t think of any one else to ask for help. I should be back sometime next week.”

Erik shrugs, before realising that Charles can’t actually see him, “Well, it’s only to take care of Whiskey, it shouldn’t be too bad,” he replies, swiftly making a quick exit back into the kitchen, as though by calling Charles would be clearly be able to infer that Erik has been snooping around his home, which is ridiculous since Charles did leave his apartment in Erik’s hands.

“Despite sneaking into your place, she’s honestly a really good kitty, her litter box is out by the balcony along with fresh litter for her. It only needs to be changed every other day and she rarely makes a big mess. The rest of her food is in the pantry cupboard and she usually just takes two meals a day. If you need to go out there is a timed feeder in the kitchen, you can just set it up with the timer, batteries are in the third kitchen drawer, with an ice pack in the freezer to keep it cool.” Charles rattles off instruction after instruction.

He can’t help but laugh at that, drawing Charles up short, he can hear Charles sputtering on the other side of the phone, for the first time since he’s met Charles, he feels as though he has the upper hand, “ Slow down Charles,” Erik chuckles, “You don’t have to rush through all that, besides even if I forget, I can always text you for further instructions. “

“Why text when you can call?” Charles teases back, clearly gotten his footing back

Erik’s heart skips a beat, “Of course, why pass up the chance to listen to your dulcet tones,” Erik shoots back.

Charles laughter on the other end is muffled halfway, he’s probably covered the speaker with his hand, Erik hears another muffled conversation going on.

“I’m so sorry, Erik but I have to cut this short,” his tone harried by whatever the interruption brought on. “We’ll have to catch up another time but feel free to message or call me any time if you need anything. Bye, Erik.”

Erik’s response is drowned out by the dial tone, loud and harsh. Charles’ kitchen feels cold and lonely without the sounds of it’s owner.

Something warm and solid collides with with calves, rubbing against him insistently. He bends down to pick Whiskey up in his arms, carrying her back to his apartment, leaving a window open so she can go back to Charles’ apartment. She’s not quite Charles but for some reason Erik didn’t feel like being alone in his apartment tonight.

***

Work picks up again and Emma has Erik and his team running ragged to try and meet more deadlines, he finds himself more often relying on the timed feeder for Whiskey. If she resents him for not giving him enough attention, she isn’t showing it, seeing that she seems to enjoy waking him up plonking down on his chest and purring furiously. Still Erik feels slightly bad about it enough that the first free evening he has, he spends it curled up on the couch watching old reruns of Star Trek with Whiskey nodding off in his lap. He jumps when Whiskey wakes up momentarily to make herself comfortable by kneading his pants. He never knew her claws could be that sharp, thankfully she wasn’t too close to the family jewels. 

Whiskey looks straight up at Erik for a few moments before blinking slowly twice and curls up into a little fluff ball once more in his lap. He rubs the space between her ears, scratching behind her ears until they twitch, to his amusement. He leans back against the sofa, gazing up at the ceiling and wonders is she spent many a night like this with Charles. How did his one night stands react to his cat, if Whiskey liked any one of them enough to curl on their lap and fall asleep. Suddenly he wants to ask Charles a hundred million questions but even though Charles did explicitly tell him he can call anytime, Erik wants to speak to him face to face and his chest tightens at the thought. Just how much he can miss a person, despite only knowing him for a few months.

The vibration from an incoming text startles Whiskey awake, immediately jumping off Erik’s lap in order to pad over towards the balcony, presumably to head back to Charles’ apartment. He fishes his phone off the table and unlocks the screen. ‘Got held up, might need another week before I can come back, thank you so much Erik!’ 

He snorts at that, even Charles’ texts are full of emoji. ‘No prob, just let me know when you’re due back’ he shoots back, before tossing his phone at the other end of the couch as he falls back against the couch, bouncing his head against the sofa’s backrest a few time, hoping that tight feeling in his chest might loosen up a bit. So much for being able to see Charles soon. 

The text does make Erik feel a little guilty about neglecting Charles’ place, guilty enough that he grabs Charles’ keys to head over to at least air out his apartment a bit and check on Whiskey’s litter box.

Even with keys in hand, he still feels like an intruder upon entering Charles apartment and turning on the lights. He goes over to the living area to open up a few windows, just to let the cool night in, stepping out the balcony doors to check on Whiskey’s litter and sure enough it needs changing. 

After changing the litter, he closes up the windows, stepping back into the apartment towards Charles’ bookshelves. Intrusive as it is, he can’t help feeling that if he looks through Charles’ apartment, perhaps he’ll have a sense of Charles and it’ll stop making his apartment feel so empty, despite knowing that Charles should be back soon.

He runs his fingers over the edges of the book spines, cataloguing the titles. Despite appearances, Charles is rather meticulous in arranging his books by genre, perhaps it just makes it easier to sought out which reference. The number of artbooks rivals the fiction novels, as he runs his fingers over them, he stops at one book, unlike the rest the spine is well-worn and creased. He pulls it out and flips through it, clearly a favourite from how often it’s been read over and over again. Erik turns it over in his hands, deciding to take it back with him as bedside reading.

Right in the centre of the bookshelves is Charles’ liquor cabinet it seems, curious, Erik glances over the bottles, wondering if he’d find that particular one - There in the side, a little out of sight, to keep it from view of others perhaps, he takes the bottle of Macallan and sure enough the label says ‘double malt aged 12 years’. He holds the bottle to the light and laughs, Charles does have an eye for colour after all. 

Just about then Erik realises the low rumbling he keeps hearing is probably Whiskey, he follows the noise only to find Whiskey curled up on the pillows of Charles’ bed. She probably misses Charles just as much as he does. Tempted as he is to curl up next to Whiskey and fall asleep in Charles’ bed, because it does smell really nice, he decide not to be a complete creeper and makes the sane decision to go back to his apartment. Still, the closest thing to Charles he can have right now is Whiskey. So he scoops up Whiskey, who wakes up in complaint and glares at Erik before acquiescing to being manhandled again. 

He carries both Whiskey and book in hand back to his apartment, settling down in bed to at least read a few pages. The next thing he knows, the sun is shining behind the blinds and Whiskey is curled on his chest purring deeply, he reaches out, poking her forehead before rubbing between her ears gently. She wakes to blink sleepily at him before shifting to make herself much more comfortable before going back to sleep again. All he can do is wait for Charles to return with Whiskey as company. 

In the meantime, Erik wonders how he’s going to get out of bed for work when Whiskey is quite content to use him as her bed. Emma would quirk a smile and then take photos and keep it as blackmail. 

***

Leaving a window open at the balcony has become habit now, just to give Whiskey the choice of which apartment she wants to spend time in. He’s gotten used to feel of her underfoot and on his lap, even going so far to buy her cat toys and bringing her food bowl over. Sometimes he wonders what he’s going to do when Charles comes back and what if Charles isn’t as interested as he is in him and that all that flirting was just Charles being Charles, considering all those people who comes and goes from his apartment because he's really going to miss the feeling of having a cat. Would Charles let him keep Whiskey permanently instead if Charles doesn't want him as much? He stops that train of thought because really, he’s gone all crazy cat person now. 

Also it’s not like they haven’t been messaging each other on an almost semi-regular basis, even if it is Charles snap chatting the most random things. Some days Erik can’t help feel like he’s still stuck in high school. Even Emma has picked up on it and making it her mission to find out who’s the new person in his life, only that there really isn’t anyone. Yet, hopefully— Erik is now officially a twelve year old again with his first crush. 

It gets to point when Erik wonders if Charles just wasn’t coming back when he hears a voice calling out for Whiskey, his heart skips a beat before going into overdrive. Never has he been so happy to have her underfoot. Before she can shoot off towards Charles, Erik bends down to scoop her up, taking long strides over to the balcony where Charles is still calling out for Whiskey. 

At the sound of the balcony doors opening, Charles turns towards Erik’s balcony and steals his breath away when Charles completely lights up at the sight of Whiskey in his arms. It’s almost hard to breathe when all he wants is for Charles to never stop looking at him that way, though a small part of his brain reminds him it’s just cause he has the cat. 

“Whiskey!” Charles coos, holding his arms out. At the sight and sound of Charles, she can’t get out of Erik’s arms and back into Charles’ quick enough, clamouring back into his arms and rubbing her head under Charles chin. Never has Erik ever felt more jealous of a cat than now. 

“I can't thank you enough Erik, for looking after her while I was away,” Charles says, shifting Whiskey in his arms. “You have to let me make it up to you,” Charles bends down nuzzle Whiskey, who’s still wriggling to make herself comfortable. He looks back up, eyes bright, “How about you come over for dinner tonight?“

“No,” he blurts out, immediately Charles falls crestfallen, trying to hide it by setting Whiskey down. Erik panics and backtracks. 

“I don’t want to go over to your place and be another one night stand. I couldn’t bear it, if we do this, I want this to be for keeps,” Erik babbles, heart in his throat, hoping he hasn’t ruined everything. 

Charles stands back up and slams his hands on the ledge of his balcony, head beant, chestnut curls obscuring his face. Erik braces himself for it, whatever reaction Charles is going to throw back at him. 

What he doesn’t expect it for Charles to lift himself up and launch himself off the balcony edge, all Erik can do is take a step back and catch Charles in his arms. 

Charles throws his arms around Erik’s neck as they collide and fall over on his balcony. 

His lips meet his upon impact and Charles’ lips are dry and chapped and he’s lucky they both don’t chip a tooth. 

And yet it’s the best kiss Erik has ever had, Charles pressing soft kisses at the corner of his mouth. Erik takes the chance, licking at the corner of Charles mouth who parts his lips, and Erik drowns in the taste of Charles, whose hands tangle in his hair. Erik wraps his arms around Charles’ waist, pulling him closer. 

“I thought you'd never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my betas for helping and cheerleading. Especially to **redacted** for personal reasons. 
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are all my own. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this Roz, think of this as an early birthday present.


End file.
